


Comfort Food

by Aithilin



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Cooking, Domestic, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-21
Updated: 2017-11-21
Packaged: 2019-02-04 23:04:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12781557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aithilin/pseuds/Aithilin
Summary: Nyx likes to cook, and he has a handful or aromatic comfort foods reserved for nights in with Noctis.





	Comfort Food

**Author's Note:**

> Prompted over at my [Tumblr](https://aithilin.tumblr.com)

Most of the food from Galahd wasn’t as spicy as most Lucians thought. The key was the fragrance. The heady, rich meats and sauces that drenched the air and weighed it down with warmth. The snap of citrus to brighten the room, or the strange concoctions of crisp, clear greens mixed with ground and crushed dried herbs. There was a perfume to Galahdian cooking that was just as important as the actual flavour. 

“Isn’t that just for presentation?”

Noctis had watched as Nyx carefully tied the sprigs of rosemary to the small roast, had held the twine still as Nyx tied it off with a flourish and a bow. He had watched— feet tapping against the cupboards below his seat on the worktop— as Nyx carefully worked the herb around the twine just as much as beneath it; careful hand wove the supple twigs into place, while every new crack and break of the delicate things released a new shock of perfume into the already warm air. By the time it went into the oven, Noct was confused about the care and attention. 

“Iggy just sticks it all together.”

“Always knew I didn’t like him.” Nyx scooped the remains of the rosemary into his hand, tossing them into a stray bowl that had made its way out of the cupboards sometime during the prep work. “No sense of style.”

There was no particular occasion that Noctis could think of— no festival, celebration, or event— that had come up to warrant the roast or invitation, or any of the plans that Nyx had deemed ‘romantic’. He had claimed to have already made the dessert— that it was still setting, cooling in the fridge. Noct had asked, of course, what the dessert was, and what the meal was for. Nyx had only returned from the siege lines a few days ago before he had declared the romantic meal a necessity. And regardless of his protests or questions, Nyx had only said that he wanted to do it. 

He had wanted to make something nice. 

And familiar. 

There was still a jar of fresh honey on the counter, and Noct had suspected a glaze, until Nyx crushed the remnants of the rosemary into a messy power. Noct let the bits and pieces of bright lavender still scattered around the counter find his hands, smiling at the fresh spell of the plant as he plucked at the leaves, watching Nyx work on whatever concoction he was planning. 

It would still be hours before the roast really was ready— before it weighed down the air with a wet heat that drifted through Nyx’s small apartment. It would still be a few hours, of Nyx alternating between teasing him and checking on the food— dutifully washing hands before crossing the barrier into the kitchen. Where the soft kisses pressed against his neck in apology were timed to being unceremoniously shoved from the Glaive’s lap as they watched some show or movie that had come on in the meantime. Where the wolfish grin only grew wider the more the air fell around them with the promise of a rich meat given a bite from the herbs twisted around it, cracking and burning in the oven. 

Noct had only pretended to sulk as Nyx gripped his hips and directed him to sit down at the table. 

“We never eat at the table.”

“Table, you little heathen.”

“Between the two of us, you’re saying I’m the heathen?”

“I have my reasons. Sit.”

The sauce smelled sweet, with only a hint of the garlic Noct expected after watching Nyx make short work of a clove with the rosemary. The honey and a bit of lemon had all made appearances with the gravy, mixed with the drippings after the roast was moved from the pan— dripping and soft and Noct could imagine the way the meat would just be pulled apart as he watched Nyx finish it off. The rosemary was set aside— crisp and blackened in the fats and heat, the flavour seeped so far into the rich meat that Noct could still taste it from the table, where he twisted in his chair to watch. 

“No peeking, little prince.”

“Kind of hard not to.”

“Turn around.”

He wanted to watch. He wanted to think that there was a different kind of magic Nyx was working. That there was some spell even Ignis wasn’t familiar with worked into the meat to make it so tempting, as every cut to carve it released some new break in Noct’s resolve to not twist around in his chair and glean whatever forbidden witchcraft Nyx was working. 

“Good boy,” Nyx teased when he set the plate of the carved roast down, the bowl of steaming, thick gravy with it. It was teasing, baiting, and Noct was too distracted by the meal to respond. 

If he was back home, with a meal like this, Noct knew that Ignis would have sourced some complementary red wine. That there would have been something just as hearty and rich, to leave Noct drunk and happy and lazy for the night. 

Nyx set down a tea. 

“Mint tea?”

“Wintergreen tea.”

“What?”

“It’s Galahdian, try it.” Nyx grinned as he took his own seat. As he prepared his own plate. “I needed to have something vaguely green around this meal.”

“Funny.”

“Try it.”

A wine, Noct realised, would have weighed him down. He would have taken too much, laughed too much, lost too much of himself in the moment when all he wanted was to remember Nyx like this. Happy, smiling, entirely too pleased with himself. 

The tea made the meal lighter than it should have been. 

They were curled together when Nyx remembered the dessert. Tasting the remnants of sauce and honey and rosemary and minty teas when Nyx untangled their limbs and moved to collect little bowls from the fridge.

“I can’t eat anymore.” Noct whined, settled far back into the bed enough so that he was leaning against the wall beneath the window. He still reached for the bowl as it was offered, smiling at the small specs of purple sitting on top. 

“I’ve seen you eat three times this, little star. Try it.”

“Is this that lavender you’ve had lying around?”

“And honey. It’s a posset. You’ll like it.”

“It’s a pudding.”

“Posset.” Nyx resettled on the bed, the chilled creamy dessert barely moving as he slipped the spoon beneath the smooth surface of it and offered the spoon to Noct’s taste. 

On the heels of the rich meat and the light tea, the softness of the dessert— the creamy sweetness of honey, the hint of the acidic lemon, the strangeness of the lavender— seemed almost like a dream. Like Nyx had conjured something by accident, and it just happened to work well. 

“Good?”

Noct nodded, letting the pudding melt in his mouth. Smiling at Nyx’s proud grin. 

“You’re so cute, hero.”

“Cute?”

“Just cute. You’re so pleased with yourself.”

“I’m always pleased with myself, little star.”


End file.
